No Expectations
by maleV
Summary: He was never the hero everyone wanted him to be. But then, Chris never thought he could be. Why did everyone else believe it? (co-written by Morriganna!) Nivanfield, Valenfield
1. Buyer's Remorse

**Two shot or three shot maybe, but it seemed kind of fitting for my currant mood.**

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****How was it Chris always wound up here? Standing in this beat up little hallway with nothing to do but recognize his shame at winding up here, night after blissful night? Inhaling the nicotine of a marlboro red, exhaling through his nostrils as narrowed eyes barely lifted to look before him, he felt like a part of his surroundings, and this place was beat to hell. If he had any remorse for what he was about to do, he might ask himself why someone who makes a perfectly respectable living working for the B.S.A.A. would wind up in a hell hole like this, but Chris deserved the hell hole. Outside it was an old style brick building, made up for a few dozen apartments, that on the outside and according to their neighborhood, was fitting of a crack dealer, or whatever else shameful acts you could envision for people who hid away in places like this. But then, just like what he was doing here, the outside wasn't always the best to look at, but you could instantly forget when the door opened and all the guilt of being here wore off and he found himself admitted into adultery. If only his former partner, Sheva, could see the 'superhero' she had thought of him as now. That door swung open and the world would disappear because he could see those non-judgemental, piercing eyes, and all the rest was forgotten. Lifting his scruffy jaw, he exhaled a small cloud of smoke before burly digits flicked the cancer stick over his shoulder, small cinders bursting against the stained wall like a tiny firework before it hit the ground, barely burning. A few uncomfortable seconds was worth getting a night where there was no expectations. That was worth something. Being able to look himself in the mirror was harder the next day, knowing that Jill had been at home thinking he was at the office somewhere and not downtown at some run down apartment that was like a hazy dream whenever he found admittance. She would forgive him a thousand times, and he would feel like shit, but as soon as that door opened.

"Captain."

Startling hazel eyes pierced Chris to his spot, and for an instant he was concerned by the younger man standing in the doorway, handle clutched in one hand while the other cupped his hip, an empathetic gaze in place. Like maybe he'd be turned away this time. Perhaps one of them would come to his senses and not give in to their baser instincts. Like maybe, with that look, Piers would turn him away. But the steeliness wore off once the sniper took in Chris' nerves and the all around displeasure at being forced to stand for him to inspect. With just a single sultry move, he stood to the side, head leaned on the frame waiting to see what the captain's choice would be. He never asked him to come. That was the order of things. Chris had a life, a wife... Yet the first time they had kissed, Chris found himself drowning in a sea of what that he used to recall when he kissed Jill. A kiss without any presumptions. An explosion had set the wheels in motion. Hurtling their bodies with heat and destruction, flying debris everywhere; and the force had thrown Piers clean over the edge of a building, dangling on the precipice, and he'd almost lost his partner. Just dangling over the edge by a single hand that grasped each other around each wrist, sweat making it slick with both gritting their teeth. He could still feel the ache of his muscles and burn from hauling the other soldier up over the edge, freed from the possible death of becoming a pancake twelve stories below. They'd been close to death on a hundred occasions, but this one had truly startled them both, knocked their worlds out of kilter and as he yanked the leaner form clean into his huge arms for stability and in that same instance their mouths had met. Gratefulness, want, death, life, whatever reason it had been, or a combination of all the shit around them, it didn't matter. It was electric. It was voiceless. Neither of them said anything before it or after it, just devoured each other in the haze. Adrenaline. Chris had started the affair really. Piers was just glad to be alive, it was shock. Chris was the one that asked if he could come by after they'd returned home from the mission a week later; completely unjustified or acceptable. He'd claimed he wanted to check up on the kid, make sure everything was fine. Captains shouldn't take advantage of life threatening situations, but Piers?

Oh, goddamn you, Piers. There was a true soldier. He was everything Chris remembered being and wanted to know again. And with all of that, the psychological stuff aside, he was everything, and everything was him. Chris couldn't share his life with his family; with Jill. She was out of the game and therefore out of the loop. And this whole, her wanting to be pregnant..., in a world like this? It was too much. Piers was everything she wasn't. So completely free. And there was nothing, that was more pure than when the creaking of that door hit his ears, opened like that, and the sniper took his sweet step to the side and gave him that voicelessness, that silent admission. Piers would say nothing. He would close the door behind them like he was now, grab his cup with both hands off the counter-top of his kitchenette, his fingers curled round its warmth and sit upon the spot. Apple cider. The only human being on the planet that Chris knew to drink apple cider instead of coffee. And one of two things would happen. Chris would lean back on the further set of cabinetry and start venting, like his partner was some kind of shrink he could share the world with. _Or_ he'd watch maybe only one or two drinks, as liquid hit the back of Piers' throat, the slight cant of the head as he enjoyed the heat that warmed his body, admire how at peace the kid was in those seconds, and then act. But the taste it left when Chris claimed those sweet pillowed lips. The cinnamon on his mouth was addictive, but the heat. How coyly delicious the flavors played on his tongue when his partner took control was the sweetest. Jesus his mouth. Chris could get lost in every shameful, sinful act they committed with that mouth. Those fuckable, warm, depraved lips; so goddamned kissable.

At the moment, it was the standstill. Piers had swayed passed him, grabbing a Rolling Rock from the fridge like every night, and popped the cap with a utensil from the drawer. Chris' favorite kind, that he'd never asked for, but had as a ready supply just for him. He would rest it right beside the electric stove; just on the counter with a thunk, before sliding up on the one opposite, beside his kitchen sink. Then the sniper would raise his cup to just in front of his mouth and sighing into his cup, breathing in the sweet perfume. It wasn't like Piers didn't have his own problems in life. But if he regretted his choice to get involved in this affair, he had voiced no complaints. He was always quiet, bottled up, even when Chris had started using him as a sounding board for all his problems. Work related or not, though mostly about others who couldn't or wouldn't do their jobs. He'd be off on some tangent or another, more often lately, involving Jill and her recent declaration that they should have a kid. Hell, he wasn't even sure they should be married, let alone bringing a child into the world. He wasn't the reliable type. And a man who would have an affair didn't desire a wife such as Jill Valentine. He was the kind of guy to have an affair with his partner of one year, on a woman he'd known all his life, because he felt trapped. It was good beer, though. Cold. Gripping the bottle neck, he took a nice long swig from the chilled beverage, but hardened eyes never left Piers. He was still looking, trying to find some hint in his face that gave away the way he really felt about all of this. About being the other man. It didn't seem to ever register for the sniper, that there was life outside the B.S.A.A., and in honesty, Chris preferred it that way. Preferred that Piers didn't question their relationship. Maybe Jill was right, maybe a therapist would call him damaged goods for wanting to be in the fray, rather than sitting in a cushy office, fighting the good fight another way, but it called to him, the steel, the smoke. They were soldiers in the war and there was no such thing as families and breaks. Piers chronic melancholy was endearing though, and all the more reason to forgo the beer, cross the room and shove the glass from his hands. To at least do the right thing for one of them. And it was exactly what they both needed, exactly what Chris did.

Placing his bottle on the tile, Chris stepped the one short stride across the kitchen, one hand taking the mug from dexterous fingers, to rest it in the steel sink, without retaliation. Calloused hands easily found a grip on those taut muscled thighs that he had become so use to, and with a firm shove at the knees, push his legs apart and stepped between them. Apprehension never crossed their faces, just heated, stumbling want as Chris lost himself. Gripping handfuls of those legs, he yanked one around his waistline, the other just palmed for something to hold on to as diligent sniper's hands wound up and under his shirt as soon as their mouths met. Soft, delicious lips. Fucking heaven. And so easy to dominate, while on the other hand, knew exactly when to push and take what they wanted. Piers always let Chris have the control of what they would or wouldn't do, but when it came to kissing, when it came to those lips, the sweet taste that invaded his senses while a moist slick tongue forced into his mouth, that was a testament that he wasn't alone. If he wanted just anyone to fuck around with, he wouldn't have. Chris hadn't done this because he wanted just some orifice to push his cock into. It was more about wanting someone to replace his feelings of insecurity with Jill. It was that this man wasn't just another warm body. Large calloused hands took a firm grip on his ace partner's backside and harshly caressed it. Moments like this was what Chris needed, to be physical without the demanding wife at home, who wants to have kids in this fucked up world. How in the hell could either of them raise kids properly when bioterrorism existed? What was he supposed to do, quit the B.S.A.A. and get some 9-5 in a cubicle? Chris was a soldier. It was all he knew and all he was ever going to know. Piers knew that, he was his partner in the field. Watching his six and being there for him no matter what, being for him now. Knowing what to say and when to say nothing at all. The Captain started this affair because he felt trapped with his marriage to Jill. And damn it all if the mind-numbing feeling of those plush soft lips while their mouths danced together, and hands quickly undid his jacket with ease and dropped it, wasn't keeping his thoughts at bay. Not tonight. It was getting harder, and harder to ignore those bad feelings, even in Piers' embrace.

Chris loved her, genuinely. Devoting his very life to her, endlessly looking for her for over three years when everyone else declared Jill dead, it had taken him down a dark, lonely road. Saving her from the clutches of Albert Wesker and in his triumph of reuniting with not only his best friend, but the only woman he had ever found himself loving, aside from his brotherly protectiveness over Claire, and so when she returned, healing from the injuries sustained to her chest and psyche, he proposed to her. Got on a knee and everything. She accepted, even a woman as strong as her, she had teary eyes. Why wouldn't Jill accept the man who went to the ends of the Earth for her? The marriage was a nice ceremony. The friends and family that were still alive were there. The honeymoon in Paris was so romantic. So perfect. Chris thought his marriage to Jill would bring his true happiness, but like all good things, they can come to an end. Jill wanted more out of her husband. To take fewer missions and stay behind a desk. Chris was offered the position of General and he turned it down over a year ago. Jill was so livid at her husband, as though it would make a difference to her, since it would still be all of his time spent in the bio-terror field. She wanted him out, like her. 'Why do you still have to be active in the field, Chis? Haven't we _both_ been through enough? When do we get to live our own lives? When can we pass the torch to the next generation of people who can fight for the world we live in? We're MARRIED, Chris! It's time to think of our future. Think about that, OUR future! I want to have kids, raise them, know what it feels like to have a real family. I can't do that if you want to go risking your life fighting the next Frankenstein monster.' Always the same things with Jill. The same shit over and over, it got old pretty fast, particularly when you do everything you can to please the woman of your dreams, and suddenly nothing seems good enough to her. Marriage was not all it's cracked up to be and the moment Jill mentioned kids, Chris felt he was truly trapped. He vented to his A.T.L. Vented and bitched as if Piers was some kind of shrink, like he'd know what to do. The sniper did listen to his Captain. He listened like the good friend he was, offered him to come in, to talk about whatever he needed, or to not talk, but never gave advice since it wasn't really something he understood himself. That was the first night. Coming over with every intention of just talking, but suddenly, the venting stopped and Chris grabbed the lithe man and kissed him hard. He wanted to relive that same adrenaline, passion that he'd felt when he'd pulled the sniper into his arms that day from just over death. That was how he felt it, the sudden urge to drown out everything and bury himself into his partner. One thing led into the next and this affair started.

"I've got to divorce Jill. Forget this American Dream bullshit; I haven't fought this long to be trapped in a corner.. problem is, she's fought just as long. She wants kids, Piers. What right do I have trying to father a kid when the world is this fucked up?" Kissing the other man again, Chris picked him up off the cheap stained counters and held him their, hips flush, mumbling breathlessly between kisses, jerked from each sentence by a forceful hand gripping his stubbled jaw and a sweet talented tongue teasing over teeth and mouth; whilst lithe legs wrapped around his waist, rolling his hips. Fuck Piers didn't that well, moved him body in all the right ways to make the world disappear. And the captain could carry him, just as well, both hands full of of his full round backside and drag him toward the bedroom. He was just venting. They both knew it. Almost three months now of this behavior and Chris had been talking about getting separated from his wife for every one of them. Maybe it just made him feel better to say it out loud, or to say it at all because his tongue was getting eaten up in his partner's mouth. So it only seemed right to say, to make some effort at making Piers more comfortable or secure. It wasn't as though he could expect Piers to continue to be fine with him coming here at all hours of the night. There were times he would just drive over after work and they'd throw down so he wouldn't feel the pressure of going home right away. Other times, like this? He went home to Jill, listened to her justified complaints, and then came here at midnight or later, after his wife begged him not to go in to work so late. Hope he could stay home just for the night. Those were the kinds of nights he felt worst, because those nights he was leaving his wife, for waking up his partner. He could see it on his face, even though Piers never said anything. It would take him longer to open the door on nights like this,to make him stand in the hall and understand his lack of virtues. Or however long it took or Piers to loose the haggard appearance of having fallen asleep on his couch.

He did that. Chris was under the impression that Piers never slept for a very long time. It seemed every night that he came here the bedroom was flawless. Never touched or slept in unless Chris was there, then the bed was used. But Piers to his knowledge never changed gears. Until not so long ago he hadn't cared to know either, but after a night they had spent together, with his wife conveniently out of town. He experienced his first night sleeping in the sniper's house, rather than coming and going like always, and in truth it was revealing in its own. It said more about Piers than _Piers_ ever said about himself. He either had insomnia, or nightmares. But the kid didn't sleep, and when he did, it was when he was passed out on the couch in full gear, sometimes in just his fatigues. Other times his rifle was taken apart on the coffee table from hours of cleaning it, disassembling, over and over until his fingers practically bled. Piers was as messed up as Chris was, if not more. But Piers seemingly had no expectations of this affair other than physical gratification, and he did it anyway. Because they needed something, contact maybe. Someone who knew everything, and asked no questions. "You can't leave your wife, captain..., you love her." He said it, even as his shirt was bunching up between their bodies, and Chris' hands were invading all the soldier's personal space. Chris could be as rough as he wanted with his sniper and the other man loved it, or hated it. He never said. That was the strangeness. What made this so awkward. He had no idea how Piers felt about any of this. Just that the kid needed something, anything. Maybe that was the reason he kept coming back? He felt guilty? Guilty for leaving Jill for long nights to come here, and for leaving Piers to go home. It was his partner, and he had no idea how to get inside his head and understand what all this meant to the sniper, why he acted in such a manner. It was all getting too heavy. Piers was right. He loved Jill, so much, too much or her own good that he wanted to keep her locked away and same like some precious China doll and never let harm come to her again. She'd seen enough of hurt and pain. He wanted to protect her. Protect her passed the point of just a loving husband. He could be that, but he couldn't be that and a soldier. He needed to pick one, and change..., it was goddamn terrifying.

"What if I told you it was you or her, Piers? After everything we've been through, covering each other's six. Would you be so goddamned understanding, then?" He wanted some reaction. To understand him better, how he felt about all this. For him to get pissed and outraged. To beg for him not to leave. Something. To rage about what a horrible husband he was being, or maybe, just ignore him and keep kissing. There had to be something, he had to feel something for him with everything going on. Something to make the decision of leaving him easier. But he didn't get ignored. Quite the contrary, those sinful lips that had attached themselves to his neck and started sucking, kissing, and groping of hands on a muscled body halted immediately, and Piers was out of his arms with such a languidly simple move. He hadn't expected it, the placid look on Piers' face as though they were discussing anything in particular. His conviction. That beautiful, goddamn conviction that was such a testament to his personality. Chris only wished he could be that steadfast with his emotions, or his judgment. He use to be. What was it that made Piers so certain of himself, and Chris so lost?

"I'd tell you to go home captain. Make love to your wife, give her a son. Have the family you deserve, and the life that you've always fought for."

Hazel eyes never wavered or blinked, his tone so convincing. Jesus, he meant it. He would just let him walk away like nothing had happened between them. Without asking him to stay, without compromising his stability or threatening to tell his wife? Without any expectations. They stood there a long while, in Piers' livingroom, on the shabby carpet, halfway between Chris throwing a punch and Piers kicking him out. Just standing there. How could he say that? How could he just pull away from this with such ease and tell him that what he knew the captain aught to do. Why was this son of a bitch always so fucking sure of himself? Of Chris. He demanded him to be this better person. As though he knew somewhere in Chris' heart, he was always the hero he wanted. God and the kid was right. So right. He should be at home, holding Jill, comforting her and telling her everything would be fine and that nothing would ever come between them again. And Piers was okay with that? Wanted that? Wanted him to walk away from their partnership and everything they had? Why didn't he seem more pissed? And after all of that, it was everything Chris wanted to hear. He wanted to hear the guy who stood by him, tell him what kind of a man he was. A good man. He needed to hear it. To hear all those things, that he could be that person that Jill wanted. Piers believed it, and seeing that conviction in those hazel eyes, the way his chest rose and fell in such easy measured breaths he knew right then it was true. "I... should go." There was a rise and fall of lean shoulders, and a nod, the sniper moving passed him as quietly as always and grabbing the door frame, throwing back the oak. "Piers, I'm... sorry." Nothing. No registered response, no nothing. Just an understanding cast of the eyes at him and out the door as the captain grabbed his coat uncomfortably, marlboros in pocket. Ushered out by his own stupidity, out the door and into the grungy disgusting hall that was an external tapestry of how his insides felt. And at that it was over... ended. As though it had never happened. Like it didn't matter. Chris would go home to his wife..., and the world would keep on spinning.

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**Piers or Jill, Piers or Jill...**


	2. She Knows

_Chris,_

_I'm sorry if you came home to find this note instead of me. I had every intention of throwing it away, to just wait for you to come home to me like I do every night..., but I couldn't. I'm so tired of waiting Chris. Its been so long. I just didn't want you to bolt. I packed my bags. Staying out of town for a while, getting some air to breath, please don't try to call me? I think you understand why, love. Just trust me when I say I love you. We need to talk about this. I need some space Chris, to think things over, but I promise I'll call soon. Just... don't bolt Chris. I love you. There's dinner in the fridge, and left overs from the last three nights. Don't starve yourself waiting. We can make this right, just give me time Chris._

_-Your loving wife, Jill_

Dark, almost onyx eyes lingered over the cursive scribbled letter, searching for the unwritten words. The way she drew the pen from right to left when she wrote. The striations in the ink on how much pressure had been applied when the pen made its mark. How the paper had been crunched up into a wad, and the smoothed out again under Jill's corrections how how she felt. Mutely replicating the same crunching up of the college ruled, lined paper in a huge meaty fist, the doing just as she had and used the locker bench to level it. She knew. How did she know? How could she have known? In the history of well kept secrets, this was the best kept secret in all of the universe. The stars didn't even know that this was the sun of all well played secrets. Unrumpling it yet again, the bedraggled captain scanned each word again carefully, scanning those real words, and not the fake ones that he didn't see written on the page. Like, how could he ever have done this to a woman as perfect as his. _'Don't bolt.' _What did that mean exactly? That his wife of a year was okay with what had happened? It didn't make sense, she couldn't have been okay with this, she had thrown this paper away and stained it with the left over spaghetti in the garbage can before smoothing it out with her second chance for them to... talk. So what was she okay with then exactly? With him being a complete and utter slob more than like. What she wanted to talk about was his betrayal of all things he'd ever believed in. Of the vows he'd said to her on their wedding day. Trading her in for a man half their age, who he had no ties to but their... completely... perfect relationship on the field? It had been perfect. So goddamn perfect. Why had he had to ruin that? And just when he needed him the most. If he'd known that Jill was going to walk out the door, did it make it worse to think he wished he'd never ended things with Piers? When he most needed those reassuring, ever powerful fingertips, poison stinging into his nervous system and lighting him on fire, teasing him on those hefty shoulders, kneading them. What venom lurched in those fingertips that stung him so bad it made his heart race? _'I love you.' _How could she? After all he'd done to her, the fool he'd made of himself, of her. Jill Valentine was as much a hero as anyone could have hoped to become and he had slandered that good name and ruined it. Besmirched it, by cheating a good woman like her. A great woman. And he could have continued too, if it hadn't been for the resolute young man with all the morals. How had it been so hard to see this. How was his marriage counseling coming from his fucking lover? And how did she know? How could she have known? Not a soul on the planet knew about the affair he'd been having, except for Piers... Piers. That son of a bitch. That self righteous bastard.

"Women always know, captain."

Tenor cut the air like a knife at all the wrong time. Wadded up paper, crumpling up all the same as fury shown from before and almost melted away the paper in hand to catch fire with his stare. Thrusting it angrily into the recesses deep within tactical pants. "_You_ told her." The hand almost upon his shoulder stopped instantly, the certainty in that accusation solid. Half hooded and narrowed eyes winced at the allegation, soft pouted lips drawing into a line. "I asked you what you wanted me to do! You made me leave Piers. Remember?! YOU! I didn't ask to go. You made me leave you, and you told my wife? You can't have it both fucking ways, you can't send me home to my wife, and then tell her about what happened!" Conviction in those sweet amber orbs, never afraid to meet the stare with the older man, villainizing him. "Are you really going to deny it?" Jaw clenched with the weight of a fist closing suggested he was going to strike him rather than verbally retort, but it uncoiled, found a hip to cup instead and let Chris continue. He didn't do it. Piers wasn't that vindictive. He wasn't that emotional. He wasn't anything. Just a sounding board, and that smooth faced, disdain for drunk and irrational was just another point being made. Chris had used him. Piers hadn't bitched about it then, being his own personal shrink with a few added perks, and now Chris was unloading on him again. As though he had any right to. They weren't together anymore, they were never together. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? You and your goddamn arrogance. Like you know the answer to every fucking thing. So tell me Piers, what's the answer now!?" It was obvious that this would happen with or without someone telling Jill, she wasn't stupid. The pin prick gnaw at his tear ducts however needed someone to blame for all this and he couldn't blame himself, not now. Chris couldn't imagine that it would have been this early in their marriage she would have discovered the infidelity. He had hoped it would have been much later, after he'd broken things off and made it right. The affair hadn't started that long ago, so if Piers hadn't told her, how did she know? It wasn't like she could have followed him, she believed that he was at the office. A second thought about it and he shook his head. She wouldn't have, if she hadn't any idea of his keeping secrets. Then another question was raised. How long has she known? _'So tired of waiting'_ made it seem like she knew for a while now. It must have been killing her, to know. He looked at the man he had been with for a brief moment. It was a rare occurrence that she would come to his office, and yet, she'd always call ahead, he didn't see her as the type to surprise the man, so he foolishly ruled that out. He foolishly ruled everything out. Such a goddamn fool. To know that Chris was leaving her in the dead of the night, climbing from their bed and slipping away, for... Lips moistened briefly examining the examiner. Hunched at the bench, he could see nothing but Piers shoes, not without looking up, to see how the sniper looked down on this behavior. So he rose. Met him eye to eye, and wanted instantly to commit ever sin all over again.

Jill stayed at home when he was on a mission, so he knew she wouldn't have been out in the field to witness how his hands wandered, over that velvet honed body that his partner sported, so warm. She loved her desk job, she told him that she'd never go into the field again. That desk was her safe haven and he approved. He wouldn't push her to give it up. She was happy and he was happy for her. So between them, Jill never saw any evidence of what happened between their little rendezvous. How on earth did she know? Did she have tabs on him everywhere he went, that even this one thing he took for himself, would never be for him? His tempered rage at Piers' secure standing and assurance brought his hardened gaze back to the secret lover he seemed to find such easy penchant with berating. Why was he even here? What did Piers care if his wife and he ever saw one another again. Piers winced as that firm glower turned on him, looking away immediately, as effective as if the captain had thrown a blow to his gut and knocked all the fight out. Whatever fight there was to have. That made it even harder. Jesus Piers, did he really..., Chris didn't deserve him. How could he keep blaming his partner for all his problems? Searching this that smooth featured, jaw, pouted lips parted in a swift exhale. His concern for the sniper, earned nothing more than... disappointment? That look on his face said it all, one he hadn't noticed up until now, but seeing Piers shirk like that when his rage had changed to sympathy. Did he really think he deserved to be treated this way? As though Piers had somehow earned a beating for what happened, or... Truly? Was that what all this was about? Piers hidden agendas that Chris could never see, it was that, he somehow thought he should be used like this? Chris' forever outlet. Be it for fucking, or for fighting? All that did was serve to make the captain feel worse. Piers Nivans was a strong, brave man, not Chris Redfield's punching bag. His hatred for what was happening filtered out in just a single second, his protective will to defend his partner surging through. "Pier-

"I'm fine."

Weapon in hand yet again. He just came off a shift of thirteen hours straight with the rookies, teaching C.Q.C. like he'd been doing it all his life, now he was going back out there? Chris would have reached for him if he had the dexterity to do so, but he was robbed the opportunity by the far younger soldier, disappearing with a spry maneuver into the life-claiming corridor that took them back to the world of bio-terror. Ever the soldier. He was so jaded. Chris took everything out on him, he didn't deserve that. Heck he didn't deserve any of this. He'd been doing the right thing ever since day one and now what was he suppose to do? How had he strayed so fucking far. His urge to give chase won, 9-0-9 in hand with a burst of speed. _'Don't bolt Chris._' I'm trying Jill, I'm trying.

* * *

**The battle continues...**


	3. Admitting the Problem

"Doctor Moore, is ready for you Mister Redfield."

"Thanks." Chris raised his head, shoving up off his knees with both palms from the plush, uncomfortable chairs that were no sooner fit for waiting, than they were for burning. Like Hell he wanted to be here in this place, serving up his soul like a dinner plater to some sycophantic daydream. The demons within the confines of his plagued mind were a buffet to any person who could get their doctorate hands on him. Probably would get some kind of reward, or award, on how they'd discovered the uncharted brain mapping of the great hero of their age. There was clearly a difference in what people these days considered a hero, if they thought he was the saint they made him out to be. The tiny waiting room was approximately 15x12 feet, with enough room to just start feeling uncomfortable form claustrophobia if you suffered from such a thing; along with the high-top pony tailed nurse at the secretary's desk, tick tacking away with her manicure on the keypad in front of her, with the occasional phone call to interrupt her Christmas song humming..., in July. he was pleased to be leaving the cheap comforts of fake concern in this waiting room to move on through the mahogany library like office he was admitted to. Not a good start to this new experience. Just the sight of the room reminded Chris greatly, with its picture windows, of the room at he Spencer Mansion that had started this entire situation. The massiveness of that unexpected twist already setting Chris into a tenseness that held high in his shoulders. Those massive shoulders, capable of displaying enough force to concuss rock, boulders more than twice his size.

"Good morning, Captain." A soft, abrupt reminder that Chris was not alone, as he came closer toward the middle of the room, glancing from side to side in the room to spot the source, and finally coming to the antique wingback chair. The vintage chair hiding her true height. Though she didn't get up from her place, half in the ligh from the picture windows, and half in the shade of the room, she did thrust out an inviting hand. "Chris isn't it? Do you mind if I call you that?"

"Nah, its fine." They weren't on base anyway. No reason for people to be calling him that. Particularly not when he didn't feel very much like a captain. This could not continue. Three days since he'd heard from Jill, and even then it was just a few short words of her asking him to take care of himself. That she'd be home soon, but had a few things she just wasn't ready to talk about. That gave him a couple of days to get his shit together, to try and work out the kinks in his own stupid life before it could ruin one of the only good things he had left. Salvage something that was worth fighting for. If Chris could work for everything else, the love of his life deserved that as well, didn't she? That was what had caused him to come to this decision, not one made lightly. There was a chance here, a real chance to make up for all the bullshit he'd put his wife through, and himself. That was what had made up his mind to start doing the right thing, and finally see that shrink Jill was always talking about. Chris didn't want the B.S.A.A. or anyone else to know that his marriage to Jill was falling apart, he'd been hiding it for this long, so there was no reason anyone else needed to know other than the parties involved, which regretfully on his part involved more than just his wife. This could help though, so damn his own comfort, this wasn't suppose to be for him, it was for Jill, and what she deserved.

"Why don't you take a seat Chris, and we'll get started? I'm sure you know why you're here, so lets start with that." Her question left it wide open. There were other issues with him that needed to be addressed apart from his being dishonest with his wife, or a complete asshole to his partner. The main one was the P.T.S.D. that he was suffering from. The problem Jill had been asking him to see someone over for almost a year now. It had never really been an unmanageable problem, at least ot so far as to the fact that he would think fans were chopper blades, or loud noises were gun fire, but it did have its own repercussions, that until now Chris though he had under control. Doing a internet search, which on its own was a feat considering Chris never used the computer willingly, let alone to do research of his own, he found a local shrink that specialized in post-traumatic stress disorder, and other mental issues. Doctor Angela Moore, once contracted by the U.S. government to do counseling for war veterans just off their tours, she'd moved on to a more lucrative private practice that pleasantly boasted anonymity. Since she only accepted cash or credit cards for payment, the B.S.A.A. wouldn't need to know about any visits with her. An appointment was made and two achingly slow days later, Chris arrived at that uncomfortable office waiting to be called from some name off a list. She was a world renowned shrink, that had to count for something right? Chris believed all shrinks were a crock of bullshit, but hoped this was worth it since he was paying a hefty sum of money for this visit. The paperwork was already filled out and faxed back to her office, so all he had to do was wait. Waiting was the hardest part. At least now he would be getting some help. Even if this woman looked young enough to be Sheva's younger sister. Looking to the inviting, albeit, traditional shrink to patient seating arrangement, Chris sighed, dropping himself into the lay back, covering his face with a massive palm, grinding it into his eye socket to relieve some pressure.

"So what do I call you, Doc?"

"You can call me Angela, or anything else that makes you more comfortable. I want this to be a safe place for you, as generic as that sounds of course. There is a great deal we'll have time to get to, but I'm not one to wait on formalities, captain. I am here to give my assistance to you, to the best of my ability to. There are a few things, however before we begin, that I'll need to inform you on, and of course we'll get to the reason you are here in just a moment." Clutching a nondescript book in her long fingers, manicured with some off colored red. French tips too, something Jill liked to do when she was feeling particularly feminine. In addition to her primp hands being professionally wound about that note pad, which no doubt his life's details would soon be etched upon, she also held a fountain pen, tapping the tip on the pad once in a way hat made a scratchy sort of sound that grated the nerves. "I'm obligated to let you know that I am brutally honest and there may be things you will not want to hear from me, but they will be said. The point of therapy is to get things into the open that you may have been afraid to hear, or haven't thought about. Its my job to reveal these things to you." Brutally honest, Chris could survive some of that, since honesty seemed to be the drug of choice now a days. Another huge exhale, and it seemed to get across without words that Chris wasn't in this to be yammering on about what someone may or may not say about the fact that he was a complete scumbag. This wasn't suppose to be about comfortable, and she was use to dealing with his sort clearly enough, so why not. "I can see you are a man of action, so how about we change things up, Chris? Its not normal procedure, but then again, if you wanted normal, I'm sure you could have had a government appoint doctor, over myself. So moving on captain, I know, you kow the reason you are here, but how about you tell me? Please give me the reason why you are here today."

Truth time Redfield, you can do this. "I have been cheating on my wife."

"Oh?" Apparently not what she'd thought she'd be hearing. Probably expected him to be some nutjob with a problem with insomnia because of some issue with all the shit in Kijuju. People weren't stupid, they knew Chris Redfield when they saw him. It was pretty common knowledge that he was he one who'd 'saved the world.' "Your wife, her name?"

"Jill."

"Alright, well for now I'd like you to call her by her name. Its an important exercise." Chris tipped his head, giving her a look as she scratched the tip of her fountain pen on the paper, and how it made his teeth grind hearing the noise while she jotted down a few words about his reaction. Probably was making a note about his objectifying Jill because he called her his wife, rather than using her given name. "Continue. How long have you been married to Jill, Chris?" More scratching, more annoying peers over a set of clear frames and curious glances.

"Two years. Until recently, it was working out I guess. I was fine. She just had this great expectation of a home. Like I know what a goddamn home is like. Raised my sister, and look at the shit she got into. I couldn't even protect her."

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long, have you been having the affair?"

Big blinking eyes set on him, observing how every time she stopped him Chris would lose his bearings just a little more on the topic. Chris sighed again, trying not to get over frustrated with the fact that he was spilling his life's miseries on some person he hardly knew. But then it felt good to talk, to someone at least. He had been use to talking to Piers until now, not that that helped either of them. "Three months." Three fantastic months. God he missed kissing those lips, feeling himself pushed down into the cool covers of his partner's always unused bed, while Piers held him down and traced the scars on Chris' broad chiseled chest with his warm, wet tongue. Think Chris! "Its just, the guilt I would feel… My wife found out about the affair a week ago. She wants to work things out, _we_ want to work it out." Jerking his arms, Chris pulled his forearms up behind his head, staring at the ceiling, with the strain of his flexed forearms as a pillow. He wanted o prove he could do this, work out their marriage, show it meant something to him. More than just a few one night stands with his partner... Not that Piers was a one night stand. He was so..., there were so many complications with their relationship. He simply wanted this to be all over, give him some kind of magic piece of advice that would make it easier for him to not feel so guilty over everything, but not want to comfort himself with his partner's mouth. Or spend his nights talking to him over a Rolling Rock and cider. That warm apple flavor, and how it soothed his senses smelling it's savory sweet aroma. Chris was having such trouble with this, thinking about him and seeing him every day without being able to touch him. Without anyone at home to touch, talk to, love. How had he let this happen?

"Your wife, she knows about the affair. Does she know you are in therapy?"

"No. We haven't talked in a while." That hurt more to say.

"And your..., other woman?"

Shit, this was going to get worse and worse. At least they had some confidentiality on this. "We broke it off." Broke it off, like it was a foot or a hand. He couldn't function like this. Seeing Piers every day and knowing that the younger man was living alone in that scrambled up head of his, sitting up nights in his apartment by himself and driving himself to insanity with whatever nightmare was plaguing him that night. He was thinking of him more and more lately, with his own house empty, it was all he could do not to go back to that apartment and ask for Piers to let him back in. He was use to coming home to Jill, to her smiles, her loving arms wrapped around his neck and asking how his day had gone. Not that he could answer her anymore since she left the department. He wanted to come back to his picket fence life and have his wife ask him where he'd been. Maybe that's why he'd been thinking about Piers more, because with his sniper, he didn't have to think. There was that no expectations allowed rule. Except right now, he wasn't just thinking about the perfect way he moved his body, or hands bunching into the fabric of those cool, bunching up the fabric, when that musical voice begged harder. He was thinking about what Piers was doing, what he was thinking about, how he was sleeping, if he was sleeping. If there wasn't some feelings left behind from their sudden break up. More scratching, it caused Chris' brow to arch and twitch like a flickering light bulb.

"So you haven't seen each other?"

"We're partners. He doesn't say anything about it though. All business. Goddamn perfect soldier, so fucking compartmentalized he didn't even ask for a transfer when we broke up." He, yes, he was seeing a he. That needed to be made clear. more scratching, urgh, that noise sounded like a rat climbing up the inside of a plaster wall, with its claws rasping at dry wall. Why all the questions about Piers anyway, this was about Jill wasn't it? Why couldn't they leave the all-american sniper in the past, and not focus on his amazing abilities in the field, or how he covered his ass yet again the other day by shooting something from almost a mile away from throwing itself on an explosive at Chris' feet? Even if his skills were perfection and his hands were poison.

"Why did you start this affair with your partner? What brought it on?"

This was tough to admit, all of it was, to a complete stranger. But if she had some kind of magical insight that would make him stop thinking about Piers, or about his bedroom eyes, he'd take it. Anything to make Jill see that he was ready to move on. Something. He was ready, wasn't he? He could be, if he needed to be. Jill needed him to be, and she was a woman worth fighting for. It was about knowing. He knew he couldn't tell Jill about his missions, that was strictly off the list, she was a civilian now, and that meant she wasn't privy to his mission briefs, or what near death experiences he had, or didn't have. It was about knowing the person with him understood what he was seeing out there. That's what had started it, Piers almost dying, his warm breath on Chris' face and how when their lips met that static jumped through their bodies like a thousand volts of electricity. "I saved his life..., can't tell you how or why, its classified. Just..., he was so alive then, and I couldn't help but kiss him." His face was so flush after that, after their lips met, and Chris wove his gloved fingers in the short strands of his hair and massaged them, short tresses catching on the rubber guards on his hands. "Took him home, made sure everything..., that everything was okay. He invited me, one thing led to another. I don't goddamn know, but that's over with so what does it fucking matter?" He wouldn't get to feel that calm and collected way that the sniper breathed when he held a trigger, or the training that taught him to calm his heart beat fail when Chris was balls deep inside him. "He knows things. The things we've seen that we go through together. I don't have to hide that shit from him. He takes it all in, that shit, and mine. Doesn't even say shit about how I should be more collected. I am his captain after all, I don't have a right to vent on his shoulders, but it wasn't like he turned me away.

"You had sex with him."

"What do you fucking think?"Incredulous that she was having him rehash those kind of obvious details had Chris sit up with a enraged twitch of his facial muscles, sneering over her incompetency to not see where his details had led.

"So it went on from there? You had a relationship with him?"

"Yeah..., no not really. I would lie to my wife about having to go into work late, or staying late. Whatever fit the story. I'd go to his place." Junkie rotting hell hole area of town he did live in. He was probably off saving the world right now, just one coke dealer at a time. "Sometimes we'd just talk though. It wasn't all about sex. I mean I'd at least talk to the guy. Its just he's a goddamn saint, its hard to get a word out of him edgewise. I at least expected him to say something back, but he just sucks it all in. Like he's superman or some shit and seems to think he doesn't need anyone but himself."

The scratching noise. Chris' hand jerked out like a python, flexing muscle glistening in its short sleeve as he gripped he fountain pen before it could make one more etch on the paper, meeting eyes with the woman who was yes startled, but she met eyes with him none the less, watching and waiting with each other. Finally his hand released the pen, slunk with a thud back onto his knee so his elbow could support his hulking weight sitting up over the edge. "Chris, I understand its hard. I know. But the fact that you are seeking help to begin with, its an important step. These kinds of questions aren't easy, but you are a captain, I'm sure it is a life you are use to. I can't imagine that your decision to come here was very easy for you, but for a first session, let me tell you. You're doing quite well." For a psychopath sure. No wonder Barry got out of this field when he did, maybe he should go see him some time, take that fishing trip they'd always talked about and get away from everything for a few days. "Its important for me to understand the people you've surrounded yourself with Chris, before I can begin to help you. So please..., just a few more things." Placing down the pen that had caused such an outburst, the doctor's smiled, a thin lipped sort of understanding thing that he use to receive from people like Sheva, when they saw all his determination. Maybe that was a good thing. Someone had some faith in him. "How did you meet your wife? We've talked about your partner, at length, and that you want to move on with your marriage. So please, tell me more about Jill."

Jill..., that was something he could talk about. He could remember the first time he saw Jill, in all her glory. A woman capable of keeping up with men like she was born one of them. He hadn't even expected her to be able to keep up with them, eve if he was the one with some of the least experience on the team. He could thank Barry for that, him and his contacts that got him into the team hand built by his own arch nemesis. What kind of man can honestly agree upon having an arch nemesis? Didn't matter. Jill..., she was what mattered. "I met Jill fifteen years ago. I don't remember when, but '96 was when I left the Air Force and met up with S.T.A.R.S. She was already in when I got there. Geared up like a regular soldier.., I never knew her until then, but she was my partner ever since. We weren't incredibly close, but we understood each other. We didn't need to pretend who we were, even though one of us had ever experienced something like we did in Raccoon. We split up for a time, but we always kept in contact. It was one of those things, where you always say you'll meet up, but you never do. Not until we both realized that what happened wasn't an isolated incident. There are facts I can't tell you, but we lost our captain in the mission, and well..., suffice to say it brought us together after that. That was when Jill started talking about making up a new organization. She wanted to save the world. I still didn't say anything. We were on and off for a few years, different partners, different missions, but she was always getting herself into trouble and I was always getting her out. We were indestructible." Chris couldn't help how broad his smile got talking about Jill. How he use to nudge her beret back up her head when it would start to slide, or when she'd command him to move faster. She was always talking to him with that relieved, glad to hear you voice. Especially during Veltro. That mission had been so trying. Not that he could share it with a shrink. "Jill was always being sent off on missions without me, even when we helped for the B.S.A.A. She was always busy. I found her once. It was just a sudden relief. It was when I started thinking seriously about it. Jill and I had always been close, but we were never intimate, not until then, when I got her back the first time. I couldn't imagine that I wouldn't be there. You know?" It felt like a love story. Best friends forever, and the married in a flurry of romance. He missed her assertiveness, that way she'd stare at him like he should know better than to worry about her, even when Veltro was trying to use her as a guinea pig. He had been talking about their romantics for almost a half an hour before he reached the part that made it all come together. "We were on a mission together when..., she was thrown out a window. Off a cliff. I didn't think..., no one thought... they declared her dead in November a few years ago. I thought it was over. Everything. I didn't even get to tell her, how I felt. Everything we'd ever fought for..." Chris' voice guttered out like a flame, thinking about the look on her face when she saved his life and took Wesker to his imagined death. She'd taken herself to her grave to save his life. Jill had done everything for Chris... "When I found her alive in 2009, saved her..., I proposed to her as soon as we got back."

"Captain, I realize this might sound like the same question, but... Why did you get married to your wife?"

* * *

So, he had a hero complex. Sure... Yeah right. Stupid shrink. This wasn't about saving people. It wasn't like he was going to get into bed with every person he had saved. That was ridiculous. Jill wasn't some kind of mistake that he was using, marriage wasn't so way for him to keep Jill safe. And he certainly didn't start sleeping with Piers because he wanted him safe either. Yeah, he was protective, but this wasn't because of some Post-traumatic need to protect this partners. He never felt this way for any of them. Shaking his head, Chris tore up the card of the 'good' doctor. He'd spend some time out of here, get his head together. He didn't need some woman giving him a lecture on hero syndrome. he sure as hell wasn't any kind of hero, let alone having a complex to be one. Screw here, he was going to go talk to someone who actually knew him. Understand the shit he'd bee through. Finally cash in on that fishing trip with Barry. Dialing Piers' number, he left a message for the sniper, kid never answered the phone. Strictly against policy, but Chris liked it. It was just another quirk. Still you can't leave the B.S.A.A. or S.O.U. without telling your partner you'll be gone for a few days. "Hey soldier, I need to leave and get away for a while. Clear my head. Sort things out. You're in charge of the team while I'm gone, kid, so get your ass in my office so we can talk." After he hung up, he gave some more thought about the shrink. That stupid bitch just wants more money. So what if I am protective? I have always been like that. I have had other partners and didn't fuck them. Piers was different..., Jill is special. I want to work things out with Jill… I love her...

* * *

**Keep on keeping on Chris... She'll call : )**


	4. Big Mouth

The fishing trip was suppose to a good way, to get away. A place to leave the politics of the B.S.A.A. behind, uninterrupted by their constant paperwork and nagging over the constant need to update their policies according to the U.N.'s charters. Away from the stress fighting B.O.W.s. The battle against the swimmers was supposed to be far easier than zombies, lickers, or even the bigger monsters that seemed to be spawning up now a days in the far east. It was also supposed to be relaxing. A place to get away from it all. The pressures of waiting for his phone to ring, and have Jill's rustic voice finally filling his ears yet again, but having to explain away his sins. If it could be done. Or waiting for the tiny black beeper on his hip to start buzzing with the command of his acting captain's request for him to come back for some last minute mission. No, fishing was in the very least, away from all the city, and the constant babble of human fallibilities. How could he? The B.S.A.A. kept Chris busy, either with training new recruits, or taking Alpha team out on missions. He had just gotten back from a mission a few days ago and left Piers in charge until he returned. He'd be safe there on his own, the kid had everything it took to be a leader, so that was a non-issue, but still. This was his first real day off since the garbage with Veltro. He was always Captain Redfield, rarely ever just Chris. It was in the silent neck of the woods, without roads or skyscrapers; just gravel, and of roads to get to the stagnant lake with wide open skies and the quiet of the mid-day sun. At least, that's what he thought. That was the intention behind leaving it all and joining the Burton's up north in Montana for a well deserved rest that might actually prove some good in his life, rather than having to deal with all the shit. Barry had gotten out of the game when he should have. He had a family to deal with and bio-terror was meant for the people who didn't have daughters at home tying a ribbon around the oak tree. Another reason Chris wasn't keen on beginning one of his own, whilst men like Albert Wesker were willing to exploit them, like had happened to his dear friend earlier in his life. Instead Barry lived in the backwoods now, with a huge house, and a happy family, designing guns for the B.S.A.A. when he wasn't making pancakes and helping build dioramas for the little ones. It was about three hours into the trip, having no words and just a few Oldstyles in the cooler, though the captain preferred a good Rolling Rock; this was Barry's trip though, and Oldstyle in exchange for a familiar face, was well worth the expense. It was that whole glorious, out in the wilderness with nothing but your hands kind of thing that made it all worth while...

"Damn it all to hell! Where's my explosives?!" Chris slammed his rod and reel down into the bed of fiberglass and aluminum of the sixteen foot Bass Tracker lofting over the surface of the dark waters; hook dangling tauntingly fishless and devoid of bait.

With a shake of his head and a hearty booming laugh that rattled in his chest, Barry couldn't stave off feeling sorry for Chris as he thundered about the boat, rocking it ponderously with his weight in search of their tackle box, flinging back the top. "If I knew you were going to be this loud," he starts to tease. "I would have let you go with the girls." The burly man chortled again, while reeling in the end of his own line plopped back in the swivel chair to rotated out behind the boat and cast and his line, the sinker carrying it down into the currant; red and white bobber staying aloft and ripples forming, sitting down to wait with a creek. The frightened fish would be back soon enough and when they did, they'd come right up to that grub. "Besides, I consider explosives a cheat, I wouldn't bring you. I take it that you haven't fished for years, nor remembered it took patience, hmmm? Know what the girls call my bobbers? A pokeball. What the crap is a damn pokeball? I don't know what the hell a Magikarp is, but I'll be damned if it's in my pond!" Chris snorted in retaliation, shrugging at Barry's revelation, as though it meant nothing. It didn't mean nothing, not to Barry, he was such a dad, but still. "What's wrong with you anyway man? You've been scaring the fish all day long with that grumblin' of yours. I know you better, than to pretend you came all this way, just to sit in my crumby little boat for the weekend. Better spill it now before you ruin our chances of catching _anything_."

As Chris bait his line, he sighed in resignment. "Maybe I have. It's harder than I remember it being…"

"Yelling isn't going to help either. You're scaring the fish away and you're getting on my nerves."

"Yeah, well its not just you." The man was teasing the Alpha Team operative, and Chris knew it, but it still hurt to hear it out loud. Chris never seemed to do much of anything right now a days. Even Barry could tell, but then, Barry Burton could always tell. When they talk about the best of friends, he was the kind of man you could go decades without seeing, and still come back in the same old rut, with the same old fish, and never get tired of it. That's how it was suppose to be, too bad too many of Chris' friends never made it. It made Barry's company all the more important.

"Again with the grumpin.' "How are you and Jill doing, anyway?"

Chris glanced at the other man for a second before casting his line out again. Brows furrowed, and shoulders splayed, Barry sending the world wide '_what_' symbol. There was another few minutes of a non-verbal war between the two, just as though they were little kids, battling with a swat of a hand across the chest, only for Barry it was a hurtling forearm colliding with immense pectorals, thudding against his flesh and knocking Chris backward into his own swivel. Relenting with a final fist throw into Barry's burly mounded shoulders, earning a chuckle. "Jill left." Frustration worked over his features, ignoring the quick snap of friendly demeanor into worry. "I don't know what to do about it, Bar. She was the love of my life, and there she went, right out my front door while I wasn't even home."

Barry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What?" He took a deep breath before scratching the back his head with a huge mitt, grimacing for Chris even if he wouldn't have. "Look, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I couldn't guarantee that I'd be able to give you any advice but I'm good at listening. You know that."

"I cheated on her, Barry. Me. I cheated on my wife. And the problem is, it wasn't..., he isn't some one night stand."

"That kid they recruited for you?"

"That'd be him... I always knew I loved Jill, Barry. We've been through more shit together as partners than most citizens have in a lifetime, but Piers? Goddamn him for being a soldier I so completely understand. Have you ever met someone so..., so certain, so much conviction? Someone who believes in you so much you almost feel... The kinds of things he says, Bar. The arrogance in this guy is unbelievable. He actually believes I'm some goddamn superhero. Like I can be the same person I was before Kijuju. The kind of shit we believed when we joined S.T.A.R.S., he honest to God believes it too, Bar. And I swear, when he... when he says those things, I gotta believe it. I can't _not_ believe it. With Piers, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. He's half my age Bar, and could be a captain if he really wanted it, but the stupid kid insists that _I'm_ the captain. Then he starts questioning me, my authority, pushing me, saying shit like, I'm a better man than this. "This", this is who betrayed Jill's trust, betrayed my own morality, it's worse than when you found me, Bar. Despite all that? It makes me want to fucking prove it to him, to me... that guy is still somewhere deep in me, I feel it. But then I'm that guy.., and he'll look at me like that and the next thing I know I'm... I royally messed up with her. If I were my past self? I'd shoot the older me right between the eyes for doing that to her. When she gets back, she wants to have a nice long talk about it. The thing is I don't know if I can stop. Piers is… I guess you can say he's an addiction." A small flush rose to his cheeks that many people couldn't see. "Can you believe the shit I still get myself into?"

Barry looked at the water nodding as Chris went on to tell him everything about Piers. He seemed like a good man. He'd never had the luxury of meeting Piers in the flesh before, but he knew the sound of people like that. The feeling of being believed in. Barry started scratching his head as he sighed, watching the bobber floating along behind the boat, unmoved. "Sounds like one Hell of a situation to me… I wouldn't know what to tell you to do… Where to even start other than, Jill is... well she's Jill, Chris. You know who she is. You've never needed anyone else before when it came to knowing your woman. You two were the couple we always thought would make it. Always in the field together, always talking, or not talking about the same things. Heck, if Jill were a man, she would be you. Never had it in me to think you two wouldn't make it. If someone was, it was going to be you." Scratching his neck, then a large paw rounding to rub through a full beard that Barry had grown. Resembled a lumber jack in that sense, with his big red puffer vest that he refused to take off, even in this muggy weather, and sleeved rolled up to his elbows to sport his tick forearm, covered in hair. It was a conundrum that was for sure, one that had stuck his best friend in place, because they both knew damn well how Barry felt about Jill. She was the perfect one for him. Heck, Barry was the best man at the wedding, and wouldn't even let anyone talk of bachelor parties with the idea of Jill's honor in mind. Chris had already ruined that when he meant to give his A.T.L. instructions on taking care of the crew while he was gone, and instead wound up holding him down over the desk, and making sure he'd kissed every inch of those beautiful lips he'd come to miss over the last few weeks. Just the idea made Chris groan, burying his face in his palms while his friend grumbled on about never having understood men in the sense that Chris did. Then again, that wasn't always true, Barry understood men plenty, honestly he could see him getting along with Piers; despite the younger man geting along with no one in particular, very well. "Women are simple. You give them the time of day that they want, and Kathy, she's got that ten thousand watt smile. I mean they aren't particularly complicated, not that the girl's ever make any sense. Moira keeps going on about wanting me to let some boy over. She's only fourteen now, can you believe it?" A nod. "Apart from loving Jill, you aren't much of a family man, Chris. Never have been interested in that sort of thing. I remember when the girls were just tots, and you came round. First thing you did was ask me where the scotch was so you could drum out Polly's squawking. Always were the lifer, I'd never be. Tell me this. Just what is it you've got yourself caught up with, that is making this so hard for ya, huh?"

Staring at the ripples in the waves, deep mahogany eyes tracked one from his bobber to the shore. It took it long enough, but neither of them was going anywhere. Probably why this was what he'd rather be doing. Talking it out with a friend who understood him, rather than flapping his gums at some shrink who didn't get this shit at all. It took him that long, and in that amount of time they both managed to say nothing, just float on the water and let the fish nudge their bait. Seemed once something might have come up to give a nibble, but a tiny bob, and it was gone again. "I guess its just..., I'm use to people needing me, Barry. I'm a soldier, its what I am, what I always will be. Its not likely people are ever going to not need me in this lifetime, not with all the bioterrorist fads going around. They'll never stop needing soldiers like me. And then I go home, and Jill, she needs everything I've got left, and I can't tell her. I can't share what I've seen, even though she's seen it too, because she's out now. I don't blame her, just like I don't blame you for getting out when you did. But everyone needs something, and I've got nothing left to give her."

"And boy wonder?"

"Jesus yes, and then there's Piers. And he doesn't want shit. I have to pry it out of him just to get the kid to talk to me, even then he won't do it. He says what he thinks I should hear. Things like, I have to do what I think is right. Yeah, right. Like I know what that is. He doesn't ask me for anything, hell I'm the one waking him up at night, asking to come in at two in the morning. I don't even know what to do about him. At least Jill I understand. Piers couldn't give two shits about himself. He's quiet and endlessly holding me up to the bar, and makes me want it more than I have felt in years. I want to be the hero people constantly claim I am, is that so wrong?" Barry's shoulders boggled back and forth, nodding his head from side to side in appreciation of knowing that feeling all too well. "And so I get convinced I'm this goddamn hero, and all I can see? Is my partner drowning. And he won't reach out and let me pull him back."

"So you can't walk away..., I got ya." There was a prolonged silence, both of them considering the problems set forth before a hearty slap to Chris' back, never having noticed the man had gotten up to begin with, a grin on his face as broad as a summer sun. "I've got your back, no matter what happens."

Chris nodded looking at the tip of his pole, going back into the recesses of his own head, rather than laying it all out there with his best friend. It wasn't right making Barry a part of his problem. They had all been the best of friends. Jill Valentine, Albert Wesker, Forrest, Barry, and Chris. Well now Barry was out of it, Forrest was dead, Wesker was a psychopath turned volcanic ash, and Jill was his wife. Maybe his shrink was right, that he had some kind of hero syndrome, where all he really wanted was to protect those he loved and keep them under his wings as long as he possibly could rather than lose her like everyone else And now he was suffering those same feelings now for his A.T.L. He hadn't, not at first. Piers was a fully capable soldier, much to his own chagrin. Trying to defend a full grown, effective soldier. It wasn't as though Piers couldn't handle himself, he was capable of a lot more than Chris ever gave him the chance to do because he was just overly protective of the younger man. He was possessive, and protective. He knew that even if the twenty odd year old man was the best in his field, someday something would happen. It was just a matter of time. On top of that, he was just starting to understand the man. To put pieces of the puzzle together, and he liked the picture that it turned out to make. The problem was, if he wanted to keep Jill, he couldn't be in that picture. It was too heavy. They weren't here about this, they were here for some good old fashion time away. Time to get down to it, and whip out the heavy duty lines. Reaching over to the box, Chris plucked up a grub the size of his thumb. Yip, time to get to the real work. Several hours later, and Barry's snores lofted into the air, hands wrapped around a beer and the other around the rod of his fishing line. Taking up the hint, Chris had tipped his own head down, his old S.T.A.R.S.'s cap in place over his head lids. About time he had a real vacation, get the rest he sorely needed. The sun was kissing the horizon sending orange ripples on the waves, dancing over the lake in a perfect picturesque manner.

_Chris chuckled, listening to Piers come to his office full tilt over the training session he had just come from; railing on about the rookie, Steven Peterson. He said it with not so crude of words, but the gist of it was this guy sucked. Grated on his very last nerves. For a man with such high integrity and conviction, Piers had one of the shortest tempers he'd ever met. His A.T.L. was right of course, he could judge people without so much as spending any time with them, but it was that same ill-tempered man who judged him constantly. Still, Steven's endurance was pitiful. "He won't last the month, Piers. We'll give him a a few weeks and if he doesn't shape up, we'll ship him out." His sniper nodded such in a huff, and the Chris couldn't not enter his personal space, snapping a hand out to stop his pacing. one hand caught in his mesh netting. All that rage pent up in one person. He was suppose to be there to talk about leaving for a few days... "I know what you need..." That look, that husky tone, and those lips. A large hand jerked them closer, took hold of that fine body he'd grown so attached to, feeling dexterous sniper's fingers taking hold of his own obvious need. "Right now, soldier." Shoving him to the side, hands cupped the edge of his captain's desk. Damn it, why could he never control himself around this kid. Chris didn't wait, didn't question; fighting with rigs, pulling down his A.T.L.'s fatigues, and what lie beneath. God he would miss that tight heat while the sniper did everything possible to be silent, biting those perfect full bow-shaped lips-  
_

_"Chris!" Jill?! "Chris!" No that's wrong, she wasn't there. No, Jill had never seen them together. "Chris!"_

"HEY! Daydreamer!"

"Jill?"

"No you daft punk, your line!" As the rod starts to bend, Chris was jerked from awake. "Whoo, got one!" Quickly, he whipped the pole up to set the hook into the fish's mouth. The battle begun to bring in prize. The fish fought, slack, the reel her in. Almost a good ten minutes straight. "Get the net Barry! I've got a huge one on the line!" Hell of a way to wake up, but damn this was the way to do it. He was going to yank this baby over the rail and, and... Barry smiled pulling the net from the back of the boat hanging it over the water. Leaning on the side of the boat waiting, a bellowing laugh echoing out over the water, chuckling over the first sight of the fish.

"Oh, that's a big 'en all right. At least you have dinner tonight Chris." He catches the fish in the net then holds it up, buckling over as he laughs. "It's a white perch!" A white perch..., and maybe three pounds. If Chris wasn't fishing, and just yanked it out of the water he would have catapulted the damn thing out of the water, and yet? "Come on cap, it's not that bad. Least you caught something, my lines still empty."

Chris, disappointed with the fish in tow, punching his friend in the arm. "Very funny, Bar."

Chris dangled his fish with annoyance, holding it up to his friends face, as the sound of the motor from the boat over, came to join them. It wasn't even a moment until a little girl's voice could be heard. "Daddy!" The homely woman, Barry called his wife, dangling their fourteen pound, large mouth bass a pleased small mouthed smile on her visage. "Look at what mommy helped me reel in! I caught a real live Magikarp! Lookie, its even got a big mouth, just like in my game."

Barry laughed, nudging Chris's shoulder, climbing from the side of their boat into that which held his girls and their mother, hoisting Polly up onto his shoulder with a barrel laugh, his youngest squealing with delight. "Take her picture with it Kath." Handing it over to Barry, the ex-Air Force pilot bellowed as he held it up, Polly's grin a mock up of her father's. The flash of the camera going off, as the girl squealed, being plopped to the deck of the boat, boggling the slimy fish around. "Haha, maybe she'll share with you, Chris. I doubt she'd eat the whole thing. We'll have better luck tomorrow."

The little girl took one look at Chris's fish and smiles. "I beat Uncle Chris!"


	5. Opposing Views

Fingers twitching, jerked like the undead as they came back from their uncertain demise, dark grease coloring under the edges of perfectly manicured nails, callouses at the tips from years of specialized work in the field, the sound of an in-distant groan pushing passed full lips while those diligent rough hands gripped about the barrel of the elongated steel tubing that hurtled bullets with never a missed target in mind. Sucking in a breath, passed cupid's bows, the sniper jerked, the entire well toned upper torso of that tan physique contracting and twisting away from the contact of cold metal in his hands. The tube jostled with such erratic movements sliding from the hands which had until an hour ago been repeating that same mind numbing movement of taking apart and replacing parts, refitting his weapon every thirty minutes and then some until exhaustion took its hold. A cold sweat broke out over those smooth and honed muscles, breathing turned to gasping, vivid imagery burst behind heavy eyelids, cinching shut tighter until lines appeared at the corners of crushed lids. Smooth features contorted as his jaw clenched and tiers pulled back to reveal white enamel, the beads of sweat working down his brow until the sniper seized into wakefulness, crying out as he startled awake and pulled his body upright on the shabby couch that decorated his apartment, leaning forward over his knees as vomit threatened the back of his throat and sweat dripped and clung down his brow to his nose, head hung forward and shuddering took over his always impressive musculature, dryly swallowing for air that burned the lungs. The tissue so aching from the staggered breathing, working to fill oxygen and clear violent scenes of theatrics. Convulsing, the remains of whatever still burned inside him, came up involuntarily, losing control of himself as the shaking of his hands and sweat coated him, culminated by hugging he sides and simply letting it all bubble forth from the depths of his soul. Panic sent in briefly, covering face with hands as it hung there, retched up spew clinging in bits and pieces from the back splatter to the fatigues he never ceased to wear, and heavy army boots; unfortunate to feel the small pieces at the corners of his lips, wiped away with the back of his hand and disregarded until sanity reclaimed his mind.

Vicious, corrupt thoughts abandoned by the waking mind, for those more eminent. Cleaning up this shit. Sulking in the quiet darkness of this neglected apartment, weight was applied to kneecaps, pushed with a surge of strength in triceps to rise from the sagging couch he found himself, to standing before the mess he'd left himself. Damn it. If life was so easy. Rolling his eyes, one foot in front of the other, with a conscious avoidance of the spew left on the carpet, the first thing he dealt with was grabbing up the parts of his rifle, once circling the table, washing and cleaning them down until spotless from the unfortunately, but night occurrence he had stumbled his way into. Sleep was overrated for those that could manage it, and unconsciously the sniper found himself reminded of his captain's easy peace. They shared nightmares, though not of the same nature, and only one of them slept the night through. Grease coated fingers worked the pieces of his new aged weapon of slaughter, tucking them individually away in place within their carrying bag, to keep from continuing his ritualistic worship of the device. He had too much to tend to tonight, than to waste the precious remaining hours of perfecting death. Wiping away the evidence of his weakness from the remaining pieces, sniper's diligent hands worked their speed which was always a thousand miles an hour. Packed away, he laid the duffel to rest on the bedroom's queen size, always made and unused for nothing more than storage for the last of few weeks. That left the carpet to deal with, and himself. 0332. Silently dismissing a groan from his tortured chest, the young soldier wiped the back of greased hand against hazel, exacting eyes, working pressure against the lids to find some peace to his mind while nightmares threatened to return for their lack of sleep. Inane drops of salty fluids stagnant at the corners of clenched lids, perfect brows arched and knit together as the swell of impending nausea reared its head once more, quelling it with the very swift reminder that he was in fact a soldier. A man, no child afraid and wetting their bed in fear of some boogie man that hid in their closet. Though it seemed now, that Piers' own wardrobe was packed with the skeletons that danced on his headstone, beckoning him toward it nightly.

"Pull it together Nivans." He could take this. It was better he was alone at times like this. Though it seemed more than luck, that when left to his own devices he found himself on the knees of his stained fatigues, scrubbing away the evidence of his sickness. He was not physically disabled by any means; no cancer grew in his body, nor tumor growing in his blood that turned an otherwise perfect soldier toward the weakness that most men could blot from their souls. It was all his own. Mind over matter. Perhaps that was what had made it so increasingly simple to admit his own captain to this disgusting erroneous affair. An otherwise perfect man, had tainted his soul by coming to this place, admitting himself into Piers' own mental ward for a fix. All human beings had problems they must face, and in the opposite that they had needs to ignore, and the sniper had dealt with his own since the day he had joined in with the likes of B.S.A.A.'s Special Operations Unit. It had been his own fault, allowing himself the weakness of feeling healed in the arms of his captain. On nights like these those symptoms of his nightmares, of the fears he held in his heart were hidden; the embers pound out by a man more God than human. He'd let his own mortality suffer for it, and his Captain's. It was for the feeling of reprieve, the clarity it gave, the peace filled sleep he endured at his hands. It was getting out all the damn hatred of who he had become in a single action as Chris pushed his face down and away, unwilling to look at him. It was fine.., knowing that Chris couldn't look him in the face as he relieved all the stresses of his heady home life by burying himself inside his partner. Just thinking on it made the sickness invade his senses again, reeling off the ground and tripping over his own boots until he reached the sink blowing the remains of stomach aside into the stainless steel. It was easy to feel guilty when you weren't lip locked with a married man, a hero of the ages. He knew it was wrong, that was why it had been so easy to tell him to leave. He simply hadn't expected all the flash backs. His depraved wants to be with his captain, were not ones a man of his caliber should ever have relented to having. Shaking and sagging against the cabinetry, the fabric of his shirt stuck to the ragged wood and pulled up, exposing his back and bunching at the shoulders, resting face against kneecaps that came together in front of him.

He single handedly had ruined a man, two. Himself, less importantly. His Captain. Chris was more addicted to the freedom Piers granted him, he heard it in his voice, felt it in the force and power he used to dominant his person, in the field as his commanding officer, or here in his apartment. Neither of them had to pretend that they wanted some kind of... loving relationship. The sniper clearly had resentment for human beings, no matter what he did for a living, and that was made no different by acting on his impulse to finally find some companionship that wasn't in the line of killing people. Where the captain already had his loving relationship at home. A wife, who wanted a child, and a home. They were partners. Men who knew the brakes and broke all the rules just to find a few moments where they could let loose and stop giving a shit what everyone else thought of them. But then... Chris started to care. He gave a shit what it was that made the sniper empty his guts into the sink at night. Asked him more and more about his life, when Piers wanted none of that. He wanted his Captain, his hero, to have the opportunity to be happy like he'd had before they'd stumbled fitfully into one another that day. Couldn't think about that though. He'd turned him out, for the both of them, no matter what the consequences. He could take it. Being alone, he always had been, before, during, and after. Right and wrong would be right and wrong no matter what poor decision one made. Convictions made a man. If you couldn't hold fast to those beliefs and continue to better humanity with them, then you had no right to be part of that world. His mistakes did not matter so long as he could deal with the consequences of them on his own and they did not effect others. The least he could have done was push Chris back toward the right path, and make sure that he understood that whatever had happened between them, held no never-mind to the well being of the world's hero. He wouldn't pretend for either of their sakes, that what had transpired was right. He and his captain both understood it was wrong, and he would not hide from the truth of that, nor attempt some ill conceived plan to make it right and take a man who'd earned happiness, and thrust him back into chaos. No. Piers had earned his insanity, no one else. And he would suffer it alone. It didn't matter how he felt, didn't matter the security of peace of mind he felt with Chris' demanding hands on his own sinful body. The ability to sleep without being tormented by ruthless dreams. Those things were his own fault, and he would not pull that man down with him.

Drug from the ground, limb after limb, braced with one hand against the ground with a shove, and brought upright stumbling off balance and drinking from the sink to rinse out his mouth and wash the remaining sick away, spitting a glob into the drain with a thud. The carpet would have to be done for now. Stripping off the clothing that had flecks of disgust on them, the young soldier peeled free of his top, tossing the close knit fabric closely followed by fatigues into the sink as well. He'd deal with those later, after he'd washed away the self loathing and filth in a freezing shower. Kicking off boots on the way, the sniper freed himself of every remaining article, and threw them aside, reaching in and turning on the stall shower water, icy water pouring down. Letting it run, Piers' set himself to gathering his things. Full regulation gear, just another replica outfit of fatigues, and cover gear that matched the ones in the sink apart from a playing tan rather than the green he'd worn that day. Throwing that aside the duffel, Piers stepped into the washroom, cold ceramic on the feet and then frozen water on his features. In an hour he'd get back to headquarters and beat everyone there, run the boys ragged while the Captain was out. Rinse, repeat, and follow the same pattern for the next of forever until his soul was clean. A man of his caliber was expected the best of his field, and for certain he had not let down. Not a single action that could not have him considered even in his first year for an advancement in the field. Assistant Team Leader. He was soldier bred. There were no excuses to be made for a man who had committed the sins he had, but with enough time, maybe he could find forgiveness in the only way he knew how.

* * *

After the incident..., Jill had left home in such a flurry. In place of dealing head on with their problem, she'd needed space, time away from her husband and the hurt he'd caused. Instead, she'd opted for Miami, Florida, home of her long time friend, to visit with Rebecca Chambers. Both of them were in S.T.A.R.S. and were of the few people to survive the Raccoon City incident all those years ago, despite the horrors faced. With everything that had occurred to both women in their own turns, it had seemed only right as the survivors to maintain communication, and Rebecca was a trusted friend once the trauma of Wesker's kidnapping had come public. They were there for one another, and when Jill's last straw had broken, and her resilience as a strong and assertive woman had finally ceased. Plucking up her cellphone form the side of the bed, pulled it from out of the side table where she kept her revolver as well, swallowing down her regret at having made this decision. Upon making a quick suggestion that she spent some time finding herself, and perhaps come over. The short woman never refused her to come, and bought her tickets even as her fingers packed away the clothing and mementos that were most significant to her and Chris. The flight was the longest of her life, and with the remembrance that it was her that had faced off against the Nemesis, survived Wesker, and married Captain Chris Redfield, it was not hard to save face and remind herself just what a good woman she was. What a catch she had been. They were two of a kind, and had Chris wanted to risk all that, with what needs he had, and she wasn't completely hateful toward him for having them. Everyone had to suffer, and the fact that she was no longer his confidant about the problems that occurred within the B.S.A.A. after having helped build it, it wasn't one sided to think he needed something more. The hope had been however, that he would see that as well. That he would look on her at the end of the day and recognize the battles she had gone through for her husband and before she had the right to call him such, and know damn well he was a lucky bastard. As lucky as she was to have him. That was what had kept her together as the plane touched down, and shuttled through the terminal. She'd remained silent, and upon her drive through the rain was when it started to finally hit how alone she truly felt. If the man she'd witnessed the collapse of society with, had left her side for something else, then what did she truly have left?

The long drive was a quiet one, no music or the like, just a hope in a dream that at any moment her cell phone's ring of a thousand musical notes would ring and alert her to Chris' call. His ragged voice on the other end and begging that perhaps, perhaps he had recognized the error of his continued affair with the man who had essentially replaced her in every facet. Without so much as a text message, the girl's face twisted, steeling herself to the pain and reminding herself quickly that this was not the time to panic. Panic was when she decided, if she truly wanted to cast him aside for his betrayal, or if she'd take him back. She made the calls, not Chris, he'd have to wait and suffer as she had until she could work things out in her head. She didn't need him, he needed her; and she wasn't afraid to admit her love, it was just that Chris needed to remember it as well, and until he could she'd be here. Stoic as always, she gathered her things, killing the engine and flashing the lights to let her friend know she'd arrived. Key pulled, she popped the trunk and headed in, a smile on her features as Rebecca met her at the door, arms outstretched and twining about her friend and colleague. Her solid front was an impressive one, that was, as soon as Jill entered her home; broken, she her luggage to a spare room, she left the brunette upon the rather womanly furnished couch, floral in pattern, with her face buried in a chrysanthemum; before coming back to comfort the older female. There could be no preamble to the agony she felt, there had been too many things between them that now that there were understanding arms about her, there was nothing more to say other than the obvious. "Becca, my marriage is falling apart! Chris… oh Lord! He has been cheating on me with his partner. With another man, Becca. ANOTHER MAN! And not even so bad as that but its as though I never even existed. Its his partner. Just like I was, is this how it was? Some sick obsession with his partners?" The sobs were louder and Rebecca felt sad for Jill, clutching her tightly and hoping to avoid conversation on the matter. She would be there for Jill, for her moment of weakness, everyone had one. In a few days however, she'd remember just who she was and the time for weakness would be over. She'd once again be the brave woman every B.S.A.A. member knew her to be.

"I thought I was enough for him. I was his partner for years and when he asked to marry me, it was the happiest moment of my life. Chris did so much to rescue me from Wesker's clutches. He never gave up on me, Becca. Any sort of lead, he used it. Then he and Sheva were able to free me and kill Wesker. I mean, he did so much for me and I love him for it. Even after all this, I still love him." There it was. She loved him still, no matter what. Were this a mistake, a moment of weakness, whatever it had been. She could handle any man before and suddenly to be brought down by the one person she'd always trusted her life on. No... he'd have to earn it. He would see his error, and Jill Valentine was no harlot to be taken lightly, or a weak little girl with no understanding of herself. No. This moment would be the last of salty tears on her sallow cheeks. "Am I not good enough for Chris? The Hell I'm not! You know what I've done, what I've been through. He's lucky I said yes when I did, that man knows nothing. Can you believe his gull, to cheat on me with his 27 year old partner? Damn fine of him to have a midlife crisis with that..., boy toy. What in the fuck is wrong with him, Becca!?" Jill was so upset, crying, tears streaking her face. "What made it so bad was that I caught them once." Rebecca's eyes widened in shock, feeling the woman yank from her grip. "I never said anything. I thought it would never happen again. Maybe they had a fling and it was one last fuck, you know? Get it out of their system or something. Hell no one was expecting a man like Chris to never have urges again, but with that boy? He's a full grown man, with a wife. I thought, maybe..., pressures at home you understand? I'm fine with that, I'm not foolish, I never expected life for us to be perfect, but its not just some overnight thing Bec, it's been months. He leaves our bed for his? Well its the final straw. I'm not stupid, and neither is Chris. Three days. He gets three days and if by then he doesn't remember who the fuck I am..., I'll remind his sorry ass." She did call him once while away, and Chris likewise, though briefly, every few days to tell him how she was, to hear his situation on the matter. That he wanted her home. She wasn't ready though. Not some woman to be his sit at home trophy. Whatever the case was, they both needed time, and they both need to change...

* * *

**_I had a request for the POVs. Not very skilled with the womanly responses to being cheated on, but knowing Jill Valentine she wouldn't take that shit lying down. She's no weak thing. The question at hand is! I can write separate endings, one for Piers, one for Jill, or you guys can live with the insanity I have planned otherwise!?_**


End file.
